


Kiss Me, Beneath the Milky Twilight

by bigbidumbass



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25191229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigbidumbass/pseuds/bigbidumbass
Summary: Tom is a closeted college kid who just moved into his dorms. He runs into Will Schofield, and an instant crush develops- it doesn't help that Will is in his English class.
Relationships: Joseph Blake/Lieutenant Leslie, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

It all started with a pencil—a pencil that Tom had dropped in the hallway on the way to class.

As he’d gone to pick it up, he’d found himself face to face with the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

“I think this belongs to you,” the boy said, handing it back to him.

Tom’s voice caught in his throat, and there were a tremendously awkward couple of seconds before he was able to choke out, “Ah, thanks!”

But the boy just grinned, seeming not to have noticed the discomfort. 

“I’m Will,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Tom,” Tom replied, shaking it.

“Well, Tom, maybe I’ll see you around?” Will asked.

Tom nodded, managing the tiniest bit of a smile. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he said.

He watched as Will walked away, a small pang in his chest.

“No,” he told himself. “No crushes- never think about him again.”

Of course, Tom did think about him again, for the rest of the day, and the next day, and the next.

It wasn’t a huge problem, not until the next semester when he’d sat down in his first day of an English class and Will had walked in. 

_Fuck,_ he thought. _But there was no way Will would recognize him from a dropped pencil five months ago, right?_

Will recognized him.

“Oh!” he said as his eyes locked on Tom. “You’re Tom! The boy with the pencil!”

Tom felt like he was going to pass out, but he managed a nod. Will sat in the empty desk next to him, and Tom caught a delicious whiff of his cologne. _Of course,_ he smelled good.

Will pulled out his laptop and placed it on his desk, leaning back in his seat.

“Are you an English major?” Tom blurted.

Will laughed a bit. “No, history,” he said. “You?”

“Culinary,” Tom said. 

“Culinary?” Will asked. “Just general or a certain division?”

“Well, I’ve thought about being a pastry chef,” Tom admitted, “But I haven't quite decided.”

Will opened his mouth to respond, but the professor had stood and begun welcoming the class, so he instead gave Tom a polite smile and opened up his laptop.

Tom was determined not to let himself be distracted by Will, and he intently listened to every word the teacher said as he frantically took notes.

When class was over, Tom quickly started packing up his things, trying his best not to look over at Will.

“Well, see you tomorrow,” Will told him, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Right, see you,” Tom said.

As Will left, Tom slowly let out an exhale. The semester was going to be torture.

But truth be told, he was also looking forward to it, as he was living in the dorms now-it was his first time living away from home, and he finally felt like he could breathe. Plus, he’d lucked out and gotten the room to himself.

He had one more class, and afterward, he got situated, unpacking his things.

It was cathartic, in a way, to put up things he’d have never dared to at home. Like his pride flag. He’d found it at a thrift shop, scrunched it up and hidden under his bed when he’d gotten home. He hadn’t been able to show it off, but it had been a comfort to know it was there.

But now, he hung it up proudly, in the middle of the wall.

Music posters, fairy lights, his favorite books- slowly he made the room his own.

He thought back to home, wondering for the thousandth time if he would ever actually come out.

Being honest, it could have been a lot worse- they weren’t violent, and Tom doubted they would have kicked him out of the house. But they had made… comments about their feelings on homosexuality before. Or, his dad had and his mother hadn’t argued. And, truthfully, he just _didn't know_ how they would react, and that scared the hell out of him.

Joe, at least, probably wouldn’t care. Probably.

Pushing the topic from his mind, he made himself some dinner and then went to bed.

Over the next couple of weeks, English wasn’t so bad. He and Will always sat next to each other, and sometimes before class, they would have a lighthearted chat.

But Tom did his best to concentrate on the class- until the teacher had announced that they would be doing a partner project, and Tom’s heart _sank._

He hated doing partner projects, _hated them._ No one ever wanted to work with him, and he always got paired with someone else that no one had chosen, who did zero work.

He hoped that the teacher would at least assign them partners, which would spare him the mortification.

But no.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be allowed to choose partners,” the professor was saying.

_Shit._

“Hey, pencil boy,” he heard Will whisper, and he looked over to make sure he hadn’t misheard. 

“Do you want to work together?” Will asked. 

Tom’s brain and his heart were immediately at war, but he managed to stammer out a yes.

“Good,” Will said with a smile. “Let’s talk about it after class.”

Tom nodded, unable to stop the warm feeling in his chest.

 _Pencil boy,_ he thought fondly. Will had given him a nickname.

 _Stop,_ he told himself. _He’s not gay! He’s a typical straight boy, and you’ve no chance! Nicknames aren’t a big deal._

But he couldn’t stop smiling to himself. When class ended, he looked over to Will, who nodded his head toward the hallway.

Tom followed him out, trying to calm himself. 

“Right, when are you free?” Will asked.

“I dunno, when works for you?” Tom asked, and Will shrugged.

“I could do Friday?” Will said. “After class?”

“Friday works,” Tom agreed. 

After settling on a topic for the project, they bid each other goodbye and went their separate ways.

When Friday arrived, Tom found himself a little anxious, but mostly excited—even if they were only talking about Hamlet, it’d just be the two of them, and the idea of that was enough to have Tom excited.

Tom, who’d always accepted the fact that he’d die alone, who’d decided that even if it hurt, he’d rather spend time with Will and end up yearning than try to suppress it and avoid him.

When Tom got to class that morning, he tried to act casual, as if he hadn’t been looking forward to this all week and pulled out his notebook.

Will tapped Tom’s foot with his shoe. “Are we still on today?” he asked.

“Yes!” Tom said, internally cringing a bit at how enthusiastic he sounded.

“Right, good,” Will said. 

Tom might as well have skipped class for how much information he took in—he was distracted and kept looking up at the clock, hoping class was over. When it had finally ended, he nearly shot out of his seat. Will was packing up his stuff, and Tom did his best not to notice that Will had extremely nice hands—they looked like they’d been carved out of stone. But what was even more, Will had on a bracelet. A blue, pink, and purple bracelet. Tom’s head suddenly was spinning.

_The bi pride flag? Was Will bi? If he was, did he actually have a chance with him? No, Will probably had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. And what if he just liked the colors, and it hadn’t meant what Tom thought it had? No, perhaps he wasn’t bi..._

“Library?” Will asked him, snapping Tom out of his thoughts.

“Yes,” Tom said, eager to move on. It was silent as they walked out of the classroom.

“You know, I was actually in Hamlet,” Will told him.

“No,” Tom said, desperately trying not to picture it. “Who’d you play?”

“Hamlet,” Will grinned. “The drama teacher adored me.”

“Really?” Tom asked, now picturing it.

“Yeah,” Will said, “It was a lot of fun. They modernized it, so for most of it I was in this sort of leather costume.”

Tom was _really_ picturing it now. 

“Well, at least you’re familiar with the content,” he said.

“And you? Have you read Hamlet before?” Will asked. 

“Oh, a million times,” Tom replied. “It’s my favorite book.”

“Good, then we’ll ace the project,” Will said. 

When they got to the library, they set out their stuff and got started.

“Shit, my laptop’s dead,” Will said.

“It’s fine, I can write it down,” Tom replied, pulling out the rubric for the assignment.

“Right, so we’re essentially doing a basic analysis,” Will said. “I was thinking we could focus on the obvious Oedipus complex in the story.”

Will was beautiful, but at that moment Tom could have killed him.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but Hamlet does _not_ have an Oedipus complex,” Tom burst, so angry that he couldn’t see straight. “That theory is such bullshit and I’m sorry, I don’t care who you are, but… wait.”

He trailed off as he saw Will was grinning.

“You were joking,” Tom realized out loud. “Fucking bastard!”

“Boys! Quiet!” the librarian called, and Tom instantly went red. People were staring.

Will was trying not to laugh.

“You’re right,” Will choked. “I’m sorry, I just had to make sure you didn’t believe that. But, seriously, I think Hamlet and Horatio were lovers. Let’s focus on them.”

Tom shook his head. “You’re impossible,” he said, writing the topic down. “But you’re not wrong about them being lovers.”

“Good,” Will said. “You have taste. Let’s find examples of their relationship in the text.”

Tom searched for phrases, writing them down.

“Hey,” someone called to him softly, and he looked up.

It was another student, sitting across from him. Tom had taken a biology class with him last class- _Nick? No, Nate._

“You were wrong about Hamlet, you know,” Nate told him, “Hamlet actually _does_ have an Oedipus complex. He wants his mother to love him instead of Claudius, and if you look at Act III scene IV, you’ll see that.”

Tom fought for his cool. “I’ve read Act III scene IV a hundred times. I didn’t see anything to prove that. He’s disgusted with her sleeping with his uncle, and so soon after his father’s death. It doesn’t say or prove _anything_ about her wanting to… you know,” he said.

“Well, maybe you didn’t actually read it,” Nate said. “Maybe you’re just trying to act cool in front of your friend.” 

Tom clenched his pencil so hard his knuckles went white. “Now you listen here—” he started, halting as Will tugged on his arm.

“Tom, he’s just trying to get on your nerves,” Will said softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Tom glared at Nate for a few more seconds, then grabbed his stuff and shoved it into his bag.

Will trailed behind him as he left, and once they were out, Tom let out a huge exhale.

“That fucking _bastard,_ ” he said angrily.

“He’s in my speech class,” Will said. “Everyone hates him.”

“Yeah?” Tom asked, still angry. “Can’t possibly imagine why.”

Will sighed. “Now what?” he asked.

Tom thought about it a bit. “Well,” he said, “I suppose we could go back to my dorm? I have a laptop charger you could borrow.”

“Really?” Will said. “Your roommate won’t mind?”

“Don’t have one,” Tom replied.

Will nodded, and Tom started walking down to his dorm.

“Hamlet really is your favorite book?” Will asked, following him.

“Yeah,” Tom said. “What’s yours?”

“Fifty Shades of Grey,” Will said, and Tom nudged into him.

“Come off it,” he said.

Will laughed. “Fine. The Odyssey,” he said. “I’ve never read or seen Fifty Shades.”

“Good,” Tom replied. “Good choice.”

“However, Twilight is also a top contender for my favorite book,” Will said, and he dodged as Tom tried to nudge into him again.

“Alright, alright,” Will said. “I’ve actually never read or seen Twilight either.”

“Don’t,” Tom said.

They stopped as they arrived, and Tom pulled out his keys.

It was only _after_ he opened his door that he remembered he had a _gigantic_ pride flag placed dead center in his room, and he watched helplessly as Will locked eyes on it.

“Nice place,” Will said casually, and Tom breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Thanks,” he said. “I assume you’re not a homophobe, then?”

It was a stupid thing to say, but his brain wasn’t working—what an awful way to come out.

Will grinned, holding up the bracelet on his wrist. “Definitely not. Also, I’m bi,” he said, and Tom’s stomach jumped.

“Oh! Good,” Tom said. He didn’t even allow himself to think about that, just set his stuff down and handed Will a laptop charger. They worked for ages, Tom getting more and more comfortable being around Will, until they were startled by Will’s phone ringing.

“Shit,” Will said, “Mind if I take it?”

“Go ahead,” Tom said. He pretended not to listen as Will answered, skimming through some of the things he'd written down. Tom could tell that Will was frustrated with the person he was on the phone with, but he had no idea what they were talking about. 

“Right. I’ll be there soon,” Will ended the call, and Tom got the picture—Will was leaving.

Will rubbed his temples. “Tom, I’m so sorry, but my idiot roommate is locked out, and I’ve got to go let him in.”

“That’s fine,” Tom said, hiding his disappointment.

Will packed up his stuff, handing Tom his laptop charger back. 

“Well, are you free tomorrow?” Will asked. “Maybe we could finish it up.”

Tom shook his head. “I’ve actually got plans. What about Sunday?”

Will nodded. “Sunday works as long as we don’t go too late—it’s a kind of tradition to eat dinner with my family on Sunday nights.”

“Alright,” Tom said, “What if we met up in the morning, then? Nine?”

“Nine,” Will confirmed, “I’ll just meet you here?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tom told him.

“Good.” Will stood up, pulling his bag onto his shoulders in one fluid motion. “I’ll see you Sunday at nine, then, pencil boy.”

Tom tried to hide his grin as Will left. The room felt quite lonely without him.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning after he’d worked with Will, Tom at least had something to look forward to—coffee with Joe. He’d been away on a trip to Italy, and Tom had missed him. Dearly. 

Compared to his uptight, conservative family, Joe was a breath of fresh air. It would be a relief to see him again. There was one problem—he’d decided that he was going to come out to Joe today, and every time he thought about it he got nauseous. 

He wasn’t even sure why he was so nervous, because Joe didn’t seem to be the person to care about that type of thing. But he’d also never talked about it. Perhaps he thought gay people were disgusting. Tom ignored his shaking hands and tried to meditate, clear his thoughts. It worked a little. 

The drive there was hell. Tom tried to keep his breathing slow and calm, reassuring himself that it would be alright. When he arrived, he was so terrified that he could barely get out of his car. But when he saw Joe waiting for him, wearing sunglasses and a huge grin, everything else melted away, and he launched himself into Joe’s arms. 

Joe locked him into a bear hug, so tight that Tom almost couldn’t breathe. It was wonderful- Tom couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. Oh, but scratch that, he could, and it had been as Joe was leaving—Joe had hugged him at the airport.

“Missed me, did you?” Joe asked.

“You left me alone with them,” Tom said. “Never do that again, it was torture.”

Joe chuckled. “Come on, I need coffee,” he said, pulling Tom towards the shop.

Once they had gotten their drinks, they got situated at a booth. 

“Still baking?” Joe asked.

“Do you know me?” Tom asked. “If I ever stop baking, please assume something terrible has happened to me.”

“That’s why I was asking,” Joe said, taking a swig of his drink. “Had to make sure my brother wasn’t replaced by an imposter.”

“Well, I’m still here,” Tom said. “How was Italy?”

“Beautiful,” Joe answered. “We should go together sometime, I’ll show you all the sights.”

“You better,” Tom said. As he remembered about coming out, his stomach jolted, and he took a deep breath. Joe was watching him with a curious expression on his face. 

“How has school been?” he asked.

“Fine, fine,” Tom answered nervously, trying not to imagine the various scenarios that could happen in just a few minutes.

“Yeah?” Joe asked, seeming to sense a little of the discomfort. “Any girls I should know about? Maybe… more than friends?”

Tom knew that Joe was only trying to make a lighthearted joke, but it only made Tom cringe more. He wiped his hands, now damp with nervousness, on his jeans, and tried hard to swallow. God, he felt as if he were going to throw up. 

Joe was really picking up on the fact that something was up, and he sat up a bit. 

“Tom? Is everything alright?” he asked, the calmness of his voice calming Tom down a little. “You know you can talk to me, yeah?”

Tom stared down at the ground, trying to find words. Joe waited patiently.

“Joe, the truth is, I’m—I’m gay,” he managed, trembling from head to toe.

Joe’s face softened, and there was a moment of silence as he processed what Tom had said.

“Thank you for telling me,” he started, reaching across the table to hold Tom’s hand. “I hope you know I love you so much, no matter what.”

Tom was choking down his tears. Joe slid to the other side of the booth, next to Tom, and hugged him again.

“Have you told anyone else?” Joe asked. Tom shook his head.

“No, no one,” he said. 

“God, you’re brave,” Joe said. He paused a moment, taking in a deep breath.

“I’m bisexual,” he confessed, which made Tom freeze. 

“Really?” Tom asked, tears immediately halting. 

Joe gave a soft laugh. “Yeah.”

“Have you told Mum and Dad?” Tom asked.

Joe shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Let’s do it at the same time,” Tom suggested, “Then they can’t properly target us—they’ll have to switch between scolding us.”

That made Joe laugh again. “God, I’ve missed you,” he told Tom.

Tom laughed too, and he felt this strange sort of warmness- a lightness in him. It felt nice, to be free, to be accepted. He suddenly had an appetite again and picked up his mug.

“Have you got a boyfriend, then?” Joe asked.

Tom shook his head, taking a careful sip of the hot liquid. 

“No? No one special in your life?” Joe asked.

Tom tried desperately not to think of Will, but his cheeks went pink, and Joe knew how to read him.

“Well, there is… this one boy,” he admitted.

“Oh, go on!” Joe said. 

Tom shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell, really,” he said.

“Straight?” Joe asked understandingly.

Tom hesitated. “No, actually,” he said. “But he’s way out of my league, and probably taken.”

“Okay, first of all, no one is out of your league,” Joe insisted. “The only thing stopping you is yourself. Second, why not ask him? What if he’s not dating anyone?”

Inhaling slowly, Tom considered it. “I don’t know,” he said. Wanting to change the subject, he turned to Joe. 

“What about you? Have you got a boyfriend? Or—girlfriend?” he asked.

Joe bit back a smile. “Well…” he said, “A boyfriend.”

“Joe!” Tom said. “Really?” 

Joe nodded. “It’s a bit new, but… it’s there. I’ll have to introduce you sometime.”

Tom smiled down at his coffee, trying to keep from snickering.

“What?” Joe asked.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” Tom explained. “It’s just, I was imagining these horrible possibilities, like things you could say to me—I honestly thought you might start preaching the bible to me.”

Joe scoffed. “I’ve never even read the bible!”

“Well, I didn’t know that!” Tom said. “And anyway, I was imagining how our poor mother is going to react when she finds out that both of her beloved sons are homosexuals.”

“Oh God,” Joe said, leaning back in his seat. “Well, it could go alright, or…”

“Or…” Tom repeated. “She wouldn’t shun us or anything, though.”

“No,” Joe said. “I don’t even think _Dad_ would shun us.”

“I don’t know,” Tom said.

Joe nudged him. “Hey, whatever happens, I’m here, alright? Always.”

“Stop being cheesy,” Tom told him. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Joe rolled his eyes, ruffling Tom’s hair. “Don’t make me change my mind, you little shit.”

Tom grinned, looking at the clear sky outside.

Sometimes life could be alright.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, he let Will in as he was making breakfast. 

“Are you hungry?” Tom asked. “I was practicing french toast.”

“I’m alright,” Will said, but Tom noticed that his eyes stayed on the breakfast a bit too long. He stared Will down.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Ah- er, no,” Will said.

“Good Lord, you’re one of those,” Tom said, fixing him up a plate.

“One of what?” Will asked.

Tom handed the food over to him. “The overly polite people who won’t eat when they're hungry.”

“Guilty,” Will admitted. “Thank you.”

He dug in, and Tom finished up making the food.

“Christ,” Will said. “This is so good.”

“Good,” Tom said. “I should hope so, or I probably shouldn’t be going into Culinary.”

“Well, I’d eat at your restaurant,” Will told him. “Or bakery.”

“Perfect!” Tom said. “I now have two guaranteed clients!”

“Two?” Will asked, finishing up his plate. “Who else?”

“My brother,” Tom said. “He likes my food too.”

“You have a brother?” Will asked. “Older or younger?”

“Older,” Tom said. “What about you? Any siblings?” 

“I’ve got a little sister named Lauri,” Will said. “And she loves to bake- you two would get along really well.”

“Really?” Tom said. “Maybe she could work at my bakery if I ever got one.”

“She’d love that,” Will said.

There was an awkward silence as they looked at each other, then Tom cleared his throat and grabbed his notebook. 

“Right, back to where we left off?” he asked.

Will nodded, pulling out his laptop.

They worked for a few hours, finishing up the project until Tom was confident they’d get a good grade.

“Not too shabby,” Will sighed, leaning back in his chair as he read over it.

“No, not at all,” Tom replied. “Thanks for not being a shit partner.”

“Don’t thank me, you did most of the work,” Will told him.

Tom grinned. “All I did was rant about Hamlet for ages,” he said.

“And that ranting is going to get us an A,” Will said. “Also, now the teacher is going to see that Hamlet and Horatio were lovers.”

“Good. He needs a proper awakening to the homosexuality of Shakespeare,” Tom said.

Will grinned, and Tom felt his heart flutter in his chest as he looked at him.

“Right,” Will said. “I suppose we’re done, then?” 

Tom felt sad at that. “Yeah, I suppose.”

They nodded at each other, but neither moved. 

“Or,” Will said, raising his eyebrow.

“Or?” Tom asked, trying not to overthink it. 

“Or we could go… do something,” Will suggested.

Tom’s heart started pounding vigorously, and he swallowed hard. “Like what?” 

Will shrugged. “We could catch a movie?”

“Okay,” Tom said, too eagerly, but he didn’t care. 

They drove to a movie theater, where the only remotely close showing was of a movie that looked truly awful. They decided to go anyway, seeing as it might be so terrible that it was funny.

As they paid for tickets, Tom reached over and put the money down before Will could.

“Hey!” Will protested. “I was going to pay!”

Tom ignored him as the worker handed them their tickets, and they headed toward their theater. 

“Listen, that’s not allowed,” Will said. “Let me pay you back.”

“No,” Tom said. “My treat.”

“But I’m the one who suggested we go to the movies,” Will said.

“And I’m the one who agreed,” Tom said. “What do you do for work, anyway?”

“I’m a tutor,” Will said. “I have some regular students that I help throughout the week, and then I also sell some pottery on the side.”

Tom looked at him, waiting for the smile to reveal that he was joking. It didn’t come.

“You’re serious?” he asked. “Pottery?”

Will grinned. “Yeah, I actually am,” he said. “I can prove it with the absurd number of pictures of my pots I have on my phone.”

The theater was empty, so they took their seats near the front.

“I’ve never met a potter,” Tom said. He tried to picture it in his head—Will at the pottery wheel, turning wet clay in his ha- _Oh God, his hands. Covered in clay. And potters had to be good with their hands._

Tom thought he might pass out, but Will just looked a little pained. 

“Well?” he said. “Aren’t you going to make a joke about Ghost?”

Tom’s eyebrow furrowed. “No?” he said.

“Thank God,” Will said. “What’s your job, by the way?”

“Well, I’m an apprentice at a pâtisserie,” Tom said. “I mainly decorate cakes and cupcakes, and they’ll walk me through the more complicated pastries and such.”

“What’s the name?” Will asked. 

“Les Petits Arbres?” Tom said.

“You work _there_?” Will said. “Lauri’s dragged me there from time to time, that place is…”

“Boujee?” Tom said. 

Will laughed. “Not the word I would have used, but it isn’t wrong.”

“I was honestly surprised that they’d taken me in—I was terrified on my first day, that I’d say something wrong or make a mistake. But then one of the chefs dropped something and went, ‘Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, _fuck me!’_ and I felt better,” Tom said, smiling softly as he recalled the memory. “But the owner is very nice, relaxed as long as the work gets done properly.”

“Right,” Will said. “You must be really good if you work there.”

Tom went a little pink. “I try, I suppose,” he said.

“Lauri will be delighted to know that I know someone who works at Les Petits Arbres,” Will said. “That’s her dream, to work at a place like that.”

“Oh, really?” Tom said. “Is she going into Culinary?” 

Will hesitated. “She _wants_ to, it’s just that our parents… Don’t get me wrong, they’re supportive, they’re just a bit nervous that she won’t have a stable career.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Tom said knowingly. “My dad wanted me to be a doctor.”

“Has he changed his mind now?” Will asked.

Tom thought for a moment. “Yes and no?” he said. “He was excited for me when I got the job at the pâttiserie—even threw me a party. But I know there’s still a part of him that hopes I’ll suddenly change my mind and enroll in med school out of the blue.”

Will laughed, throwing his head back. Tom felt his stomach flutter at that. 

The lights dimmed, and the conversation went quiet as they fixed their attention on the screen. The movie was _terrible_ , so bizarre and just plain awful that it was hilarious. 

Will was quick to laugh, and it was so fucking _contagious_ that he and Tom were in tears by the end, stomachs sore from their hysterics. Tom found that he loved Will’s laugh more than anything in the world. He wanted to be around it forever. 

Unfortunately, the movie was only two hours long, and it soon came to an end. When it was done, they clapped like idiots—still the only people in the theater.

“Brilliant. Masterpiece,” Will said.

“If it doesn’t earn every oscar this year, I’m going to sue,” Tom said.

“Oh, absolutely,” Will said. “Give it every award. Even a Tony—it deserves it.”

“You’re right, it does,” Tom said.

They grinned at each other for a moment, then Tom quickly stood up, embarrassed, and Will followed suit. As Will stretched, Tom immediately avoided looking at the small bit of skin near Will’s hip that was revealed, cheeks going pink.

He watched as Will sighed, checking his watch. “Right, I’ll give you a lift home, and then I’ve got to head off,” he said. 

“Sounds good,” Tom said. 

On the drive back to the dorms, they chatted about different things: the movie, baking, World War I for some reason. 

When they pulled up, Tom gathered up his stuff and opened the door.

“Right, thanks for the ride,” he told Will.

“No problem,” Will said.

Tom got out, heading to the curb. Instead of driving away, Will rolled down his window and called, “Sure you’re ready for the Hamlet presentation tomorrow?”

“Are you joking?” Tom quipped, “I was born ready!”

“Then I’ll see you in class!” Will called back, smiling widely, waving. 

Tom waved back and watched as Will drove away.

As he walked back to his room, he couldn’t stop smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

It was only at the end of the semester when Tom realized his predicament—first of all, he _still_ didn’t know if Will was taken. And second of all, once class ended, he’d never see Will again—Will would have no reason to talk to him anymore.

It wasn’t like they talked a lot now. Ever since the project had ended, they hadn’t had much time or cause to.

It was really very sad how much that had affected Tom. He’d gone in and out of various emotions, trying to convince himself that Will really wasn’t that important or hot, which failed, of course. 

On the last day of class, Will tapped his shoulder, and Tom turned to look at him. 

“Here,” Will said, handing a small package to him.

“What’s this?” Tom said.

“A gift. Just a tiny one, don’t worry—and don’t open it until you get home,” Will instructed.

Tom was trying not to overreact. “You should have told me,” he said. “I would have got you something too.” 

“No, it’s small, you’ll see. And you bought the movie tickets, remember?” Will reminded him.

“Right,” Tom replied. “Thank you, then.”

Will smiled, standing up. “See you around, pencil boy.”

“See you,” Tom said.

Once he got back to his dorm, he cried. It was extremely overdramatic, he knew, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to lose Will, possibly forever. 

Picking up Will’s gift, he unwrapped it. It was a pencil—with a small note. Tom sat up quickly, reading it.

 _Don’t drop this one, pencil boy,_ the note started, and Tom choked out a laugh, continuing on: 

_It was brilliant working with you on our Hamlet project, and I suppose I should thank you for our A on it. I never could have been that convincing without you. I’m sorry if I’ve been distant lately—I took on a bit too much work this semester. I ended up overwhelmed and had almost no free time to spend with anyone. But I’m freed up now, and the truth is, well, I really enjoyed spending time with you. I’d like to do that more if that’s alright with you._

Tom reread that part six times, hardly believing it. There was more: 

_Plus, you still have to meet Lauri! Although, if you’d rather not see each other again, I completely understand, and no pressure. But if you would like that, here’s my number._

_Yours,_

_Will._

There was a phone number beneath that, written neatly.

Tom’s heart jumped. _Yours._

Christ _. Christ._ Had that meant what he thought it did? Christ. Oh, God.

Tom debated on whether or not texting Will immediately was too soon but decided on it anyway. Next was figuring out what to say. He tried _“Hi :)”_ but nixed that immediately. Ultimately, what he chose was, _“it’s tom! thank you for the pencil. i’ll make sure to keep this one safe :)”_

He pressed send and quickly threw the phone on the bed, panicking. He paced back and forth, replaying the letter in his head.

Had it meant what Tom thought it had? Had Will wanted to be more than friends? Or was he just being friendly?

Tom buried his head in his hands, taking a deep breath. This was fucking torture, and he needed a drink. But all he had was a bottle of wine someone had gifted him, and he didn’t even like wine. It took him another ten minutes before he gave in and opened it, chugging it a bit. Thankfully, he was a bit of a lightweight—it wasn’t long before he felt a slight buzz. And then, mercifully, _finally,_ he heard his phone ping with a reply. 

Tom scrambled back to the bed, grasping his phone like it was a lifeline. He was so excited/ anxious/ terrified that he didn’t even process the words at first. He had to reread it twice to realize what it said: 

_“Tom—I'm glad you texted. Are you free Wednesday night? I was thinking maybe we could get coffee and talk.”_

Tom’s hands were shaking, and he still had no idea whether or not this was meant platonically, but, God, he’d take it either way. He texted back a “ _yes, i’d like that,”_ and sent it through.

What a night.

* * *

When Will had gotten the text, he’d been driving Lauri home from her weekly volunteer work at the animal shelter.

“Oh, shit!” he said, unable to look. “What’s it say?” 

Lauri grinned, grabbing the phone from his pocket. “It says that it’s Tom, and he says thank you for the pencil,” Lauri said. 

“Anything else?” Will asked, trying to keep collected.

“It says that he’ll keep it safe. With a smiley face.” She raised her eyebrows. “Sounds promising, if you ask me.”

Will kept his eyes on the road, determined to stay focused.

Lauri leaned back in her seat, sighing. “Well?” she said. “Do you want me to text him back for you?”

“No, no,” Will insisted. “I have to think about what to say.”

“Alright,” Lauri said. “Is this the Tom who works at Les Petits Arbres?”

“Yes,” Will replied, pulling into the driveway.

“Date him,” she replied, and got out before he could respond. Rolling his window down, he waved. 

“Night, Lauri!” he called.

She waved back. “Tell him you want to kiss him!” she yelled.

He shook his head. “Not happening!”

She stuck her tongue out at him, then went inside.

Will pulled back onto the road and headed home. He considered various responses—some flirtatious ones, but most more subtle.

By the time he’d arrived, he knew what he was going to say: _“Tom- I'm glad you texted. Are you free Wednesday night? I was thinking maybe we could get coffee and talk.”_

He sent it and then went inside. Tom replied within a minute- _“yes, i’d like that.”_

Will couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, and he carefully took off his shoes at the door. Leslie was in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. Will sometimes wondered if that was the only thing he ate- but then there was mac n’ cheese as well. 

“Who’re you texting?” Leslie asked.

“Why?” Will replied, a bit defensively. 

“Because you’re beaming at your phone, and I know it’s not going to be long before you end up inviting whoever it is over,” Leslie said. “Plus, I’m rooting for one of the options.”

“Options?” Will queried. “What do you mean by options?”

“Well, it _could_ be that girl Molly from your pottery studio,” Leslie suggested, “Or it could be that cute hunk who flirted with you at the store the other day. _Or,_ ” he said, taking a bite of cereal, “My personal favorite— that boy Tom from your English class that you wouldn’t shut up about after your Hamlet project together.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Will said. “It’s Tom.”

Leslie pumped his fist in the air. “I knew it,” he said smugly. “He’s your boyfriend now?”

“No,” Will said quickly. “I don’t—we haven’t… we’re just friends right now.”

“Right, I’ll wait a week and ask again,” Leslie said. He drank the leftover milk from his bowl, then placed it in the sink. 

Will had gone red. He wanted to say something but didn’t know what—he helplessly watched as Leslie walked away.

Will suddenly remembered he needed to reply to Tom, so he texted back suggesting a time and place. Tom quickly replied back with a yes.

They ended up texting well into the night, and Will was gloriously happy. There was one problem—he had zero idea of whether or not Tom had taken his messages platonically. He wasn’t even sure if their date the next night was actually a date. He _hoped_ it was, but couldn’t be sure- he’d have to see. 

_God, how he hoped it was._

And as Will slowly drifted off that night, he dreamed of Tom.


	5. Chapter 5

It was at work the next morning—Tom had been in the middle of putting out pastries for display, when he’d looked up to see a young girl come into the shop, looking maybe eighteen. Shyly smiling at him, she looked over the pastries as another girl came up behind her, taking her hand.

She reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on it- he just gave her a smile and went back to work. When he was done, he found her longingly watching a pastry chef in the background.

“Do you bake?” he asked her.

She looked a little taken aback at the question. “I—a bit,” she answered. She paused a bit, as if she wanted to say more, then burst: “I made a Baked Alaska last night!”

“Baked Alaska?” Tom said. “What do you mean _‘a bit_?’ That’s advanced!”

She beamed, a bit humbly. “Alright, maybe more than a bit,” she admitted. “But not as well as the people in here.”

“No? Practice makes perfect,” Tom said. “Are you interested in a career?”

Her face fell a bit. “Ah, maybe,” she said. 

Tom looked to the pile of cookies that they sometimes decorated for children. You would ask their name, pipe it onto the cookie, and hand it out. Kids loved it. Adults, too—they often looked a bit jealous.

“You’re under eighteen, right?” he said.

“Er, over, actually,” she said

Tom shrugged, picking up a cookie. “A kid at heart, then?”

She grinned, getting the picture. “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“What’s your name, then?” Tom asked, picking up the piping bag. 

“Lauri,” she said. “L-A-U-R-I.”

“Oh!” Tom said, suddenly realizing why she looked familiar, “You’re Will’s sister, right?”

“Yes,” she said, “Then you must be Tom!”

Tom piped her name onto the cookie and boxed it, handing it over. 

“Nice to finally meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. 

He looked to the girl behind her, who had been standing there the whole time, silently. 

“Oh!” Lauri said, “This is my girlfriend, Eleanor!”

Eleanor gave him a wave. 

“Hi!” Tom said. “Want a cookie, then?”

Eleanor shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said politely.

“You’re sure?” Tom asked, seeing her eyes linger on the cookies in front of her.

“She can’t have gluten,” Lauri explained for her.

“Oh!” Tom said, grabbing one of their gluten-free cookies. 

“Here,” he said, passing it to Eleanor. “Sorry, won’t have your name on it, but at least you can eat it.”

She took it, smiling. “Thank you.”

As the bell rang behind them, they all looked up. It was Will.

“Oh!” he said upon seeing Tom. “Tom!”

He looked between Tom and Lauri. “Ah, I see you two have met, then?” he asked. 

“Yes, finally,” Lauri said with a grin. “You should have introduced us ages ago.”

Will smiled, unable to stop looking at Tom. “Right,” he said. 

Tom heard his name called in the kitchen, and Alexandra, one of the other chefs, came out to take over for him.

“Right, I’ve got to go,” he told all of them. “But I’ll see you Wednesday?” he asked Will.

Will looked very pleased. “Yes, Wednesday.”

He waved goodbye and headed back to the kitchen, where everyone was staring at him.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Jess, the owner, asked. 

Tom froze. He’d almost forgotten he wasn’t out yet—after all, Jess was a lesbian, and she ran the store with her wife, there was no reason for him not to be.

“I’m gay,” he said simply.

“Oh, congrats!” Jess replied. “Was that your boyfriend, then? Blondie?”

“No,” Tom said. “Just a friend.”

“What a shame,” Jess said. Tom’s face went hot.


	6. Chapter 6

When Joe dropped Tom off at the cafe with a “good luck,” and a smile, Tom didn’t think he’d ever been more scared—well, maybe when he’d come out to Joe. His knees were practically clattering together, but when he saw Will waiting for him it somehow got even worse. 

When Will saw Tom approaching, his face broke into a grin and he waved and walked over, relief palpable in his face. _He was nervous too,_ Tom realised, and he relaxed a little.

“Hi,” Will said anxiously. 

“Hi,” Tom replied, taking in a deep breath. They stared at each other a moment, just sort of smiling at each other before Will shook himself out of it. 

“Right,” he said, nodding towards the menu, “Shall we?”

“Yes,” Tom answered eagerly, and he walked up to the line with Will.

“Er—any recommendations?” Tom asked. “I’ve never been here before.”

“Me neither,” Will said, laughing a bit. “I’ve only heard it was good.”

“Well then, I suppose we’ll both have to find out,” Tom remarked, and Will gave him a smile. 

“Yes,” he replied. 

When they both had ordered, they chose a table outside to sit at, and they chatted a bit about the shop, about the end of the semester. Tom learned that Will played a little guitar, and Will learned that Tom loved English class but hated maths. When they finished coffee, Will suggested they take a walk through the nearest park. 

Tom had relaxed a bit, but he still hadn’t quite figured out if it was a date. He supposed he’d better find out.

As they walked, he listened to the crunch of the leaves and tried to build up courage. Will was telling him about the history of the park, about when a certain statue had been built. Tom listened to him intently, and when they paused to look at it, Tom inhaled a deep breath and slipped his hand into Will’s, staring up at the statue. He felt Will’s hand tighten around his in response and looked over, seeing Will giving him a shy smile.

They held hands for the rest of the walk through the park, both with a slowly growing smile on their face. When they were done, they stood still for a moment, both wondering what else to do.

“Want to go to an art show?” Tom asked. “I heard there’s one down the street.”

“Yes,” Will said quickly, and they walked down to see it. Neither of them knew very much about art, but they both liked to look at it—they stayed until the exhibition had closed, and Will even bought a piece for Tom, to which Tom stubbornly returned the favor, buying a piece of art he’d seen Will’s eyes linger on, despite Will’s protests that “he didn’t need to do that.”

Afterward, Will carefully put the art in the back of his car and they walked down the road, window shopping before it had gotten late and there was nothing left to look at.

“Right,” Will said, a bit begrudgingly. “We’d better get you home.”

“Right,” Tom repeated, but he didn’t move. He just stared up at Will for a moment, before daring to slip up onto his toes and press a soft kiss to Will’s cheek. Will went red, and Tom did too, both of them going a bit flustered. Will opened the car door for Tom, and Tom got in, watching Will move to the driver’s seat and slide in. As he did, he smiled at Tom and reached over his hand, which Tom gladly took. He couldn’t stop smiling the whole way home, and Will seemed to be feeling the same way—he kept sheepishly glancing over at Tom, at their intertwined hands. Tom directed him to Joe’s house, where Tom was staying for the summer, and when they arrived, Will pulled into the driveway.

“Let’s do this again soon,” Will told him enthusiastically.

“Yes,” Tom said, “Yes, we should.” 

They grinned at each other for a moment before Tom sadly detached his hand from Will’s and got out, giving Will a soft goodbye. He’d almost gotten to the door when he heard Will’s voice behind him and whirled around, daring to hope. Will was jogging toward him with the painting he’d bought for Tom. _Oh,_ Tom thought, realising he’d forgotten to grab it. His heart sunk a bit—he had honestly been hoping for a moment that it was Will coming back to kiss him. He took the painting from Will and smiled up at him.

“Thank you,” he said, “Can’t believe I forgot it!”

“Yeah, no problem,” Will said. He stood there breathlessly staring at Tom for a bit before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Tom’s lips. 

In a lifetime, there are surely some kisses that are imprinted into your brain forever—the most significant, the most wonderful. This kiss was one of Tom’s. 

It was soft, gentle, just like Will himself, but so sweet. Tom leaned into it without a second thought, moving a hand into Will’s hair. He felt so elated that he wondered if he might have been able to fly, but he stayed on the ground and clung to Will until Will had pulled away and smiled at him. 

There was an awkward moment, but Tom was so delighted that he hardly noticed it.

“I wondered if you were going to do that,” Tom teased, and Will flushed. 

“I—I wasn’t sure if you liked me that way until you held my hand,” Will confessed, “And then my brain wasn’t exactly working.”

Tom laughed and leaned up for another kiss, which Will tenderly supplied, followed by a round of several shorter kisses. Neither of them wanted it to end, but it had to, and Tom begrudgingly ended it and beamed up at Will.

“I’ll text you,” he told Will, who nodded and returned his smile. 

“Yes,” he said, a bit breathlessly. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Tom replied, and his cheeks hurt now.

He didn’t walk through the door—he floated, in exactly that cliche way that everyone described when you’ve fallen in love. A smile was permanently etched into his face, the memory of the kiss was constantly replaying in his mind, and he barely even noticed when Joe asked him a question until Joe waved a hand in front of his eyes.

“What?” Tom asked, suddenly coming back to Earth, and Joe chuckled incredulously.

“I asked how it went,” he said, and Tom sat down and beamed at him.

“Good,” he replied, and Joe raised an eyebrow.

“Just _good_?” he asked. “You look like… like you’re a child in a sweet shop, and your mother just told you that you can have anything you want.”

Tom tried to tone down his smile, but it was useless, even though his cheeks burned.

“Well, I—it was wonderful,” he admitted. “We stayed at the cafe for a bit, and then we walked through the park, and I held his hand, and then we went to an art show and—and bought art for each other, and then he dropped me off here and I thought that was all, but… but he kissed me,” Tom burst, unable to stop himself, and Joe grinned at him.

“That does sound wonderful,” he replied. “Are you two seeing each other again soon?”

“Well, I hope so,” Tom exclaimed, pulling out his phone. There was already a text from Will— _I had the best time tonight. When are you free again?_

Tom beamed up at Joe. “He's asking for another date already,” he said. “So I definitely think so!”

“Good,” Joe told him, “You deserve someone that makes you happy.”

Tom went a bit pink and squeaked out a, “thank you,” then got back on his feet.

“I’m going to head to bed,” he said, “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well,” Joe told him.

Tom didn’t sleep just yet—he replied to Will, telling him times that he was free, then laid down on his bed and thought about how amazing the night had been, slowly drifting off and dreaming of Will holding his hand, kissing him again.


	7. Chapter 7

Over the next few weeks, Tom and Will went out for more and more dates, until Will had officially asked Tom to be his boyfriend. Tom had nearly shot out of his seat, he was so excited to say yes. It felt strange now, to no longer be single, to have someone there that he could talk to besides Joe, to have someone that he shared inside jokes with and intimate moments with. Strange, but amazing.

Will even showed Tom around his place, where Tom met Will’s roommate, Leslie, who seemed to be a bit… interesting. He was blunt and sarcastic, and not very nice. He would often make comments that verged on the line of judgemental, and he seemed to carry his pessimistic attitude with him everywhere. 

Tom didn’t hate him, but he certainly didn’t like him very much. He tried to ignore him the best he could and focus on only Will, which seemed to work fine. 

Will was easy to focus on, with his soft expressions and endearing smile, the way Tom would sometimes catch him fondly staring at him, the way he’d grab Tom’s hands and wrap them in his own when Tom got cold. The way he so easily seemed to read Tom.

Yes, it wasn’t hard to focus on that. But even Will could not distract Tom from his family— more specifically, the way his family was pressuring him to get a girlfriend. Tom had once been forced to spend two hours on the phone, talking his mother down from sending him on a date with a girl she’d met.

He knew that he really _should_ tell them the truth, but every time he thought about it, he felt nauseous. He decided to push it away for the time being and try to relax.

It didn’t work for long, though, as they’d apparently talked to Joe too. He brought it up once, in the middle of driving Tom to Will’s house for a date.

“Mum’s been asking me to check in on you,” Joe said. ‘She said she’s worried about you, how lonely you are.”

Tom scoffed. “You know I’m not lonely, Joe,” he said, and Joe nodded.

“Of course I do,” he said, “But are you going to tell her?”

Tom stared at him. “What, that I’m gay?” he asked. “You really think that she’d take it well?”

“I don’t know,” Joe replied solemnly. “If I knew, I’d probably have already come out.”

Tom sighed and looked out the window.

“This isn’t fair,” he said. “Straight kids don’t have to come out to their parents! But I tell Mum I’ve got a boyfriend and risk never seeing her again.”

Joe chuckled and glanced over at Tom before returning his eyes to the road.

“I’m afraid you’re preaching to the choir,” he said. “I wholly agree. It isn’t fair—but if either of our parents is really going to have a problem with it, it wouldn’t be Mum anyway.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, rolling his eyes, “But if I tell Mum, Dad knows. She can’t keep a secret.”

Joe shrugged, but he was grinning. Tom leaned back in his seat and stared at the view in front of the car.

Hesitating a moment, then turned back to Joe.

“How mad do you think Dad would get?” he asked. “I’ve always wondered how angry he’d be.”

Joe let out a huff of air, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. 

“I don’t know, Tom,” he replied. “There have been times when he was angrier than I’d expected at things, and times when I expected him to be angrier than he was. I don’t think he’d ever _hurt_ us, but… he might not be exactly thrilled.”

“Yeah,” Tom murmured. They were getting closer to Will’s apartment, and he perked up.

“Take the next right,” he instructed Joe, who did as Tom said, but he looked a bit uneasy.

“This is weird,” Joe said.

“What’s weird?” Tom asked.

Joe took a deep breath. “Nothing, I just. I know someone who lives around here.”

“Oh really?” Tom said. “That’s funny.”

“Yeah. Funny,” Joe repeated.

“Alright, just up there, the blue house,” Tom said.

Joe stopped the car. “No,” he said. “No.”

“No?” Tom asked. “What do you mean, no?”

“Your boyfriend _cannot_ live there,” Joe said pointedly. “Because _my_ boyfriend lives there.”

“No,” Tom said. “That’s not possible.”

“You’re sure he lives here?” Joe asked. “Absolutely sure this is the right house?”

“Yes! I’ve been here before!” Tom said. “Are _you_ sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Joe said, pulling his car into the driveway.

“But that can’t work!” Tom exclaimed, panicked. “Because then we’d both be dating Will!”

Joe froze. “Wait. _Will?_ ” he asked. “Oh my God, no, I’m dating Leslie! You’re dating _Will_? History major Will Schofield?”

“You’re dating _Leslie_?” Tom exclaimed. “What the hell did you do that for?”

They stopped as the front door opened, and Will came out.

Leslie was right behind him, shoving Will out of the way.

Joe rolled down his window. 

“Hey, babe,” Leslie greeted him, giving him a kiss. “What are you doing here?” 

“Dropping my brother off,” Joe said, nodding over to Tom. 

When Leslie saw Tom sitting there, he looked delighted. 

“Tom is your brother?” he asked.

“Hey, Schofield!” he called back to Will, “Did you know you’re dating Joe’s brother?”

Will looked a bit in shock, but he quickly recovered as Tom got out of the car.

“You have terrible taste,” Tom told Joe, who rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please,” Leslie grinned, “We all know I’m the real catch here.”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself,” Tom replied, running up to Will.

“Hey,” he said, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Will said, “It’s just that, well—I’ve heard your brother talk about you before.”

“Really?” Tom asked, crinkling his brow. “What’d he say?”

Will took in a deep breath, looking a bit pale. “Well,” he started, “I didn’t know it was you at the time, but he’s been talking… he’s been threatening your boyfriend, essentially. Which, is me, but I didn’t know.”

“Threatening?” Tom asked, pulling a face and looking back at Joe. “Why threatening?”

“I think he just wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt,” Will explained. Tom took Will’s hand and shrugged.

“I can handle myself,” he said, “And I won’t let him murder you, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” Will said weakly, pulling Tom inside the house and to his room.

“I _cannot_ believe he’s dating Leslie,” Tom said, plopping down on Will’s bed. “He has the audacity to tell me I have bad taste, and then he dates _him?_ ”

Will chuckled, taking a seat next to him. “He told you that you have bad taste?” he asked, and Tom gave a shrug and scooted closer to Will.

“Well, yeah, when I was watching this movie he hated a couple of years ago,” he huffed. “I liked it, and he despised it, and he told me I had bad taste and that I always would.”

“Well, I don’t think so,” Will said, “I mean, I’m not one to judge whether or not dating me is bad taste, but I _do_ know that you like Hamlet, so…”

“Ah yes—Hamlet, my redeemer of taste,” Tom laughed, and Will grinned and pulled him into his lap, stroking his hair.

There was a moment of silence as they sat like that, simply savoring each other’s company before Tom turned to Will.

“There’s only one problem,” he said, and Will’s grin melted into confusion.

“What’s that?” Will asked, brushing a stray curl out of Tom’s eyes.

“Joe likes Hamlet, too,” Tom said, and Will let out an overdramatic groan.

“Damn,” he cursed, “We’ll just have something so terrible in his taste that it overrides even Hamlet.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tom asked, leaning in so that his face was only a few inches away from Will’s. “Like what?”

“Like… maybe he enjoys watching the Bachelor,” Will suggested, and Tom laughed.

“I guess we’ll have to find that out,” he said, and Will closed the distance between them.

“Get a room, lovebirds,” Leslie called from the doorway, and they both pulled apart and glared at him.

“We’re in my room right now,” Will pointed out, “Now go away!”

Leslie shrugged and left without another word.

“Can’t stand him,” Will muttered under his breath, and Tom reached for his hand and squeezed.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, more abruptly than he’d meant to, and Will looked at him. Tom could tell he was concerned, though he mostly hid it—it was the small clench of his jaw that gave him away, the slight panic hidden in his eyes that Tom had learned to read.

“Anything,” he answered, and Tom smiled at him weakly.

“You’re out to your parents?” Tom asked, more poorly phrased than he’d wanted it to be.

“Yes,” Will said, “I came out to them when I was fifteen.”

“And they were supportive?” Tom confirmed.

“They were, very much.” Will squeezed his hand, concern bleeding more and more into his face. “Why do you ask?”

“My parents don’t know,” Tom admitted, “I’ve been thinking about telling them lately, and I just… wondered how yours took it.” 

Will’s demeanor instantly shifted from worry into comfort.

“Tom,” he started, but Tom shook his head and he quieted. 

Tom hadn’t wanted to get emotional, but there he was, on the verge of tears, shaking a bit. 

“I just… they’re religious,” Tom explained, “And strict, and they’ve… they’ve talked about it before, and it wasn’t exactly in a good way, and—”

The tears had caught up to his voice and he choked up, unable to continue.

“Oh, Tom,” Will said softly, “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Tom replied, “I’m… I’m scared, though.”

Will scooted closer and wrapped Tom in his arms, and Tom could tell he was trying to find words.

“I can’t pretend like I know they’ll take it well,” Will said, “I’ve never met them, and I’ve heard too many stories about parents not accepting it, but… I _hope_ they will. And if they don’t, to hell with them.”

Tom nodded into Will’s chest, sniffling a bit as he listened, tears spilling down his cheek.

“You choose your family, anyway,” Will continued. “Hell, I’m sure _my_ parents would love to have you over. And Lauri adores you, and you’ll still have Joe, and… and even Leslie, though he’s an asshole.”

That got a laugh out of Tom, even though the tears were still coming.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to stop crying.

“Tom,” Will murmured, “It’s not easy, any of this, but… if they don’t support who you really are, then they don’t deserve to be in your life.”

“Yeah,” Tom said again. He leaned his ear against Will’s chest and listened to his heartbeat, its steady rhythm of it a comfort for his soul.

“Anyway, they can’t exactly kick me out now, I don’t live with them anymore,” he said, wiping his nose and pulling away to give Will a half-assed attempt at a grin. Will fixed him with a chiding look, sliding his hand to Tom’s cheek and pressing a kiss to Tom’s forehead.

“And I’ll be here,” Will told him, “As long as you’ll have me.”


	8. Chapter 8

Every time Tom felt as though he’d never been more scared in his life, he was always proven wrong. He’d thought that telling Joe would be the most scared he’d ever be, but it was clear, standing on his parents’ porch, that this was worse.

He hadn’t had anything to eat, but he still felt nauseous. He was shaking so badly that he had to steady himself as he reached for the doorbell. He was tempted to book it, to run and do this another time, but he knew that he couldn’t. He rang it and waited for a response.

And there was his mum, grinning at him and ushering him inside, wrapping him in a hug.

“Oh, I’m so happy to see you, Tom!” she exclaimed, “It’s been ages!”

Tom gave her a forced grin and took a seat on the couch before his knees gave out. His father, who had clearly heard his mother’s commotion, came in and gave him a nod. 

“Thomas,” he said, sitting down next to him, “It’s good to see you.”

Though Tom couldn’t see himself now, he knew his grin must look more like a grimace.

“Thanks, Dad,” he said. 

His father nodded again and picked up the post, going through it. Tom was fighting his body into calming down. _Deep breaths,_ Joe had told him, _deep breaths._ That helped a little. 

“I’m glad you finally visited,” Martha grinned, setting a cup of tea in front of him. “There’s this girl I think you’d love, and I want you to meet her.”

“Actually,” Tom said, “I came over because—because I wanted to tell the two of you something.”

His mother smiled and nodded, obviously distracted by what she’d wanted to say. 

“Yes, yes, in a bit, dear,” she said, “Her name is Minnie, and she’s just a year younger than you, and she loves books, and—”

“—I’m gay,” Tom blurted, and she froze, staring at him. His father was staring at him too, the shock Tom knew would melt into something else.

“What?” his mum asked, smile pasted in place as if she hadn’t quite processed what he’d said.

“I’m gay,” Tom said again, breath starting to quicken. “I don’t like girls. I like boys.”

His mother’s gaze cleared and she straightened, looking to Tom’s father. 

_Of course, she’s seeing how he reacts,_ Tom thought to himself. 

“I see,” his mother started nervously, but his father had cleared his throat.

“Thomas,” Henry said, “Don’t you think you’re… a bit _young_ to be saying things like that?”

“What?” Tom asked, appalled. He’d expected anger, he’d expected rejection, but plain denial? He hadn’t seen that in advance.

“I’m only saying, you’re nineteen, you’re so young,” his father said, “And you’ve barely begun to grow, and know who you are.” 

Tom was speechless—surely, he couldn’t be serious. He stared at his father helplessly, searching for something to refute it. 

“When I was your age, I didn’t know who I was meant to be,” his dad continued, but Tom cut him off before he could continue.

“When you were my age, you were dating Mum!” Tom exclaimed, “You knew you liked girls, didn’t you?”

There was more silence, and Tom couldn’t take it, he had to continue.

“I know who I am,” he insisted, so loud among the quiet of his parents that he could practically have been yelling. “I’m Tom, and I read all the time, and I’m training to be a pastry chef, and I have a boyfriend who I love, and I’m gay, alright? Gay!”  
That was apparently more than his father could take, as he stood and exited the room, leaving Tom and Martha to stare after him.

Tom’s mum hesitated a bit, then sat next to Tom and took his hand, squeezing it. 

“What he’s just said,” she started, “I don’t agree with. I can’t pretend I know much about this, but… I trust you to know yourself.”

This was more than Tom expected, and he felt hot tears stinging his cheek. Martha gave him a sympathetic look and wiped them away, wrapping him in her arms. 

“My baby,” she said, “You’ve always been my baby. Nothing can change that, no matter who you love.”

She softly rubbed his back until he’d cried himself out, murmuring soft things. There was a sharp beep from the kitchen and she reluctantly pulled away, taking his face in her hands. 

“I’ll be right back, my love,” she said, “I just have to pull out the cookies.”

Tom nodded and she stood, heading to the kitchen. 

Tom looked around blankly, only looking up when his father reentered the room. His face was red, and he’d obviously been crying too. 

Tom stared at him, not knowing what to say. It wasn’t as if his father would be able to convince him that he didn’t like boys.

His father stared back for a moment, then sat down next to Tom again, breathing sharply.

“I can’t say I agree with it,” his father started, “But I… I don’t want to lose you.”

Tom couldn’t speak now, sobs had already hit his chest, but he was fighting them, pushing them back. If he spoke now, he’d surely cry. 

“Tom,” Henry choked, “You’re still my son. Frankly, I don’t—pardon me for saying this—but I don’t give a rat’s ass who you date, as long as you don’t push us away. Hell, you can even bring your boy over here, if you’d like. I just want you to be happy, and if you say this makes you happy...”

“It does,” Tom replied firmly, and he could no longer fight the tears. 

Tom’s dad pulled him into a fierce hug, squeezing just enough to push the air out of him but not enough to hurt. Tom returned it, clinging on, and his mother had come in and joined them. 

Tom couldn’t breathe, but he had never felt less of a weight on his chest.


End file.
